


Lackadaisical

by MorganeG



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeG/pseuds/MorganeG
Summary: The first time Matt and Becker kiss, Becker almost shoots him.





	Lackadaisical

The first time Matt and Becker kiss, Becker almost shoots him.

 

Matt's shouting, his accent only getting thicker with every word, and starting to pace. That's never a good sign.

 

And Becker's just leaning up against the car, one hand on his gun as he keeps an eye on their surroundings. The damn thing's gone and got away, something that wasn't his fault despite the rising decibel level of their token leprechaun, and it could be back seeing as how they're still here in the damn thing's makeshift nest instead of being more away and less here.

 

Then suddenly Matt's gone quiet and Becker glances over from scanning the tops of the buildings to find him right there. And not just closer, but  _right there_. About two inches away right there. And he opens his mouth, starts to say "what" but only gets halfway through the w before Matt's  _on him_.

 

It only lasts a second, a very warm, close, he hadn't realized Matt's jacket was soft, second, before Becker's pushing him off. He means to say something angry and shocked and coherent, like "what the bloody hell was that, you ponce" but really only manages the "what!" part.

 

And Matt just stares at him intensely in an indescribably  _Irish_  sort of way and spits out "I was trying to get you to  _think_." And strides off.

 

Becker isn't sure how that was supposed to help him think.

 

The second time, it's Sunday and supposed to be both their days off.

 

Becker shifts his weight, glaring at the door to Matt's flat and hammering on the door again. "I swear, Matt, if you don't come answer the bloody door or pick up your damn phone right now I'm finding your spare key or kicking the door in."

 

In the end, he opts for the spare key, wedged under the door frame and the rug, so as not to wake the neighbours. He strips off his hoodie and slings it over the banister, hoping he'll be putting it back on in a few minutes but knowing it'll probably be longer. There aren't any things that don't seem to be Matt's at the bottom of the stairs. His shoes, his jacket.

 

So he tromps up the stairs, feeling peevish and wishing he'd gotten a coffee on the way here and gotten it into his bloodstream because he would probably feel less inclined to wake Matt up by kicking him in the ribs. And really, the floral-victorian frosted glass on the stairway? Maybe the man really was gay.

 

And oohhh, that wasn't something he'd meant to think about while he was in his flat. Or ever. At all.

 

"Oi! Matt! Y'don't answer your phone anymore?" He shouts out through the flat, just to give himself something else to do.

 

There's an answering moan, sleep-ridden, and he follows it round the corner to the futon and mess of blankets Matt apparently calls a bed. Feeling a slight pang of something as he takes in the twisted sheets, he kneels down beside the man and says his name quietly.

 

Matt's eyes open slowly and he smiles up at Becker slightly, still more than mostly asleep. "You own colours."

 

And kisses him. Again.

 

"Augh!" Becker falls over backwards and sits there, staring crankily at Matt, who's slightly less asleep but significantly more amused. "You have  _got_  to stop doing that."

 

"Shuddup, you like it." Yeah, he's still mostly asleep.

 

"I'm going to go make coffee, get dressed, there's a thing." He scrambles to his feet, something he hasn't done since he was a teenager, and curses his lack of coherency. And that Matt's so damn enlightened in the mornings.


End file.
